


networking for alien abductees

by ryyves



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Gen, Greg Frickard shows up briefly as Emily's bf but I'm not tagging him since he's ass, That's just where in the timeline I'm in, Tim as ultimate family man is thing I'm here for most in the world, We do not condone Frickard in this house, feat. the Jensen kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryyves/pseuds/ryyves
Summary: Emily has lunch with the Jensens.
Relationships: Emily Potter & Tim Jensen, Mary Jensen/Tim Jensen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	networking for alien abductees

**Author's Note:**

> _Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this._  
>  — Dito Montiel
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm not sure my timeline is completely right but we're rolling with it. I wanted to write something short and sweet while I work on a longer au, and there isn't enough Emily & Tim content.

Emily brings a lasagna to the Jensens’, a selection of her favorite books, and two bags of expensive coffee beans because Emily is sure Tim has been sleeping about as well as she has. She woke early to bake it. She wanted to bring it over early, so it is half past noon when Greg drives her up to Tim and Mary’s front door.

The Jensen residence is as American Dream as you can get, a cozy, bluebell-with-white-trim, split-level house. As Emily heads up the walk, holding a basket with the lasagna tucked inside, she sees hydrangeas in bud and green crocus stems pushing out of the ground on either side of the porch.

Mary has made time to garden, it seems.

Behind her, the car window winds down. “Call me when you’re done, and I’ll be there in a jiffy,” Greg calls across the lawn.

Emily doesn’t turn when she says. “You know I will, Greg. It might not even take that long.”

Tim answers the door, face haggard, hair combed back from his brow. Whole swaths have fallen free and hang about his ears. At first he holds the door with one hand and props himself against the doorframe, but when he sees Emily, he smiles.

“Emily,” he says, voice soft but sincere. “It’s good to see you.”

“I brought some hot food for you and Mary and the kids,” says Emily. “As in, I basically just finished cooking it.”

Tim’s eyes drop to the basket, then up to Emily’s face with bright, trembling eyes. “Mary,” he calls behind him.

While Mary shuffles down the hall, Emily takes the moment to scrutinize Tim. His intense, dark-rimmed eyes stare back at her, and she would label them sullen if she didn’t know the white noise inside of him.

“How are you holding up?” says Emily, softly.

“I’m holding up. Let me take that,” says Tim, and he puts his hand on the basket handle.

Emily concedes just as Mary appears around Tim’s shoulders.

“If it isn’t Emily Potter,” Mary exclaims, face breaking into a grin. Barely past thirty, she already has crow’s feet, her mouth set in a perpetual downward tilt. But when she smiles, she beams. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, her blouse wrinkled. She stands almost a foot shorter than Tim.

“Hi, Mary. I just wanted to drop this off, but I also sort of wanted to catch up with the two of you. And say hi to the little ones, of course.”

Tim takes the basket and steps back into the hall, twisting to fit around Mary. With him gone, Emily can see the mahogany floorboards, the grandfather clock opposite a hall closet, the glint of a glass table through the open door. The shrieks of laughing children reache her.

“Well, sure,” says Mary. “Always a pleasure to entertain guests.”

Emily laughs. “I assure you, I won’t need any entertaining.”

When Emily and Mary arrive in the kitchen, Tim is taking the lid off the lasagna. Steam rises in his face and he startles back. He glances at them and gives a shaky laugh.

“We’ll put this in Tupperware right now so you can take the dish back,” says Mary as Tim starts opening cupboards. He sets several large containers on the counter and begins to cut the food into uneven squares. Mary sits at the kitchen table and gestures for Emily to sit as well.

Emily says, “Oh, no, I don’t mind if you keep it.”

“It’s the least we can do.”

“No thanks necessary. I know… I know you’re in a worse position than me. I can’t even imagine going through this with a family. But, you know, you’ve got me.”

“Sweet girl,” says Mary. “I know you’re not going to tiptoe around us like Tim’s going to break any moment. You look just like him, like you can’t sleep a wink.”

“I’m doing okay, really,” says Emily. “I mean, hey, I’m cooking. That counts for something.”

“Look at this.” Delighted, Tim holds up the coffee bags for Mary. He tosses one across the room and she catches it.

“Emily!” she exclaims, reading the brand.

“Nothing less for my favorite Jensens.”

"Aw, jeez," says Mary.

Tim opens the fridge and freezer and divvies up the containers he’s filled. There is something fragile and incomprehensible in his tone. “Do you want to call the kids while it’s still hot?”

“Let them play,” says Mary. To Emily, “You know, it never gets any less weird, to be an object of interest in the town. To have everybody know everything. I got used to those radio boys of yours keeping me company, keeping me in the know about the plan, but.” She sighs. “It’s one thing to be talking into a telephone at four a.m. with the kids asleep, and it wasn’t like nobody brought me home-cooked meals like your sweet ass is doing when… when I thought we had him back… well, that’s not a conversation to have right now. He has to adjust more than anyone. It’s like that blasted UFO stole more than a couple of years from us—from him, from the kids, from… well.”

Radio boys of mine? Emily thinks. But she says, “The worst part is trying to get used to working again. It’s work I love, but it’s hard to concentrate most of the time.”

“It’s the same for my Tim. Trouble focusing on anything for too long, tired all the time.”

Tim turns around, a serving spoon dripping with cheese in his hand, and Mary blushes. “I know, I know, I’m talking about you with you in the room again,” she says.

“No, no,” he says absently. “Keep talking. I don’t mind.”

A young kid runs into the kitchen. He has his father’s hair and his mother’s sad eyes, and is dressed like a pirate, complete with eyepatch and hat.

“Hey, kiddo,” says Tim.

The kid barrels into Tim and wraps his arms around his legs. “Tick tock,” he whispers loudly in feigned fright.

“Better keep running, Captain Hook,” says Mary.

“Arrrgh!”

“Have you met Emily Potter?” Mary asks. The kid doesn’t smile when he meets Emily’s gaze. He’ll make an intense teenager, Emily thinks.

“Hi, Emily Potter,” the kid says dutifully, but doesn’t disentangle himself from his father.

Mary says, “She just got back to King Falls, just like your daddy. She brought us some dinner.”

The kid pulls the eyepatch up over his brow. “Thank you, Emily Potter.”

“Why don’t you call your sister for lunch?” says Mary. The kid runs out of the kitchen and hurtles back a minute later with his sister on his heels.

While the kids dig into their pasta, Mary grinds the coffee and Tim ushers Emily into the dining room. Tim sinks deep into the sofa, leaving room beside him for his wife, and Emily settles into the armchair. It is darker in here than in the kitchen, even with the lights on, and the carpets are a soft, rich red.

“You’re lucky you have a job you can go back to,” says Tim, and his fists clench on his knees. “I feel so useless, sitting around at home, trying to be the father my kids need when it’s like I missed half their lives.”

"It's okay if you want to talk."

He sighs. His hands twitch and recoil, and he speaks haltingly. “Do you… I mean, if anyone were to understand, it would be you, wouldn’t it?"

Emily presses her lips together. “As far as I know, I was just gone. Taken, that’s what they say it was. I was taken and then I came back. My mother only had to adjust to the fact that I couldn’t… that I wasn’t okay on my own. That she wasn’t an empty-nester anymore.”

“It would be easier if Mary hadn’t gone through the exact same thing once before, and I worry… well. That it’s my fault she has to do it twice. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“But she deserves you,” Emily says, resolutely.

Mary enters the living room, carrying three mugs which she sets on the coffee table.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” she says affectionately, touching Tim’s shoulder. Tim reaches up loosely to swat her hand away, and she catches his hand.

Mary sits on the couch next to him and leans forward, still holding his hand. “I married this man,” she tells Emily, pride rich in her voice.

“I married this woman,” says Tim, his smile tired but bright and clear. “Best thing I’ve ever done.”

A love like that could change the world, Emily thinks. And then: it already has.

“Emily,” says Mary. “If you want someone to fill you in on exactly what happened, I’m your woman.”

Emily laughs. “I’ll keep you in mind.” She reaches up and twirls her hair; it grew out in the time she was away and she hasn’t cut it yet. “But I… I don’t know, I want to figure it out myself, so that I know it’s really what happened to me. So that it’s my own story, you know?”

“I’ll admit I’m biased,” says Mary.

Tim blows on his coffee, takes a tentative sip and puts it down. He looks so fragile that, for a moment, Emily worries he might drop the mug.

Bella comes in, parmesan cheese stuck to her cheeks, and squeezes between her parents.

“Wipe your mouth,” Mary tells her gently. Bella bunches her sleeve around her hand and rubs it across her face.

Mary glances between Tim and Emily, her eyes calculating. “I’m gonna go clean up. You sure you don’t want anything for lunch?”

“Well,” says Emily, “if you’re hungry, don’t starve on account of me.”

When Mary has vanished into the kitchen, Emily tells Tim, “I think you’re still you.”

Bella pulls her knees up and rests her head on her father’s shoulder. Tim, caught holding his mug, reaches out for the side table.

Emily isn’t sure whether Tim wants this conversation to stay private, unheard by anyone in his family, but he makes no move to shoo his daughter. So Emily says, tentatively, “Whatever happened to us, it’s not going to win. Not on my watch. And not on your watch either.”

“I don’t know,” says Tim. He lifts his coffee listlessly, the bones in his wrists prominent and too thin to hold up his hand.

“What tea is that?” Bella asks.

“The good kind. The kind your mommy makes with coffee. You’re not supposed to drink it.” He offers her the mug handle, instructing her to avoid touching the bottom, and she takes a sip. He watches her with so much fondness Emily’s heart aches, but she hides her expression behind her own mug.

She says, “You’re you, you’re Tim Jensen, and you belong here. Okay?” She is saying it for herself as much as for him. “You belong here.”

“I’m something,” he says, still looking at the girl. “And I don’t know about belonging, but I’m trying.”

“I’m trying, too. And even though I don’t know who I was before any of this, even though I don’t know the shape of Emily Potter, I have a right to be here, and I’m sure as hell going to stake my claim until I know, because what I am isn’t contingent on who I used to be.”

Bella watches Emily with shrewd eyes as blue as Tim’s.

Tim says, “I can’t imagine forgetting… Mary and my family.”

“I remembered my mom.” She realizes her voice is bitter. “Of everything, I remembered her, and my childhood. Greg, he—he tells me stuff, and it’s not that I don’t believe him, but it doesn’t feel right, hearing my life come out of someone else’s mouth. My mom’s, too.”

After a pause in which Tim’s eyes don’t meet here, he says, “See, if nobody told me, I wouldn’t know it was real, the life I had before. But it’s like they forgot who I was, because of that other me, and if they don’t know, how am I supposed to?” His voice rises. “You’ve seen all the pictures. I’m in those pictures and I don’t recognize me.”

“I look at my mom’s scrapbooks,” says Emily, crossing her legs. First lock of Emily’s hair, kindergarten drawings, photographs of Emily on the little rocking horse, smiling like a diva. “I think it’s the same thing. I remember being in my life before, but it doesn’t feel like me.”

“And I can’t seem to figure out how to be him.” He glances toward the kitchen doorway, but Mary is still out of sight.

Bella says, “Daddy.”

“Yes, honey?”

“That’s not good tea. But the bad you would never let me try it.”

“Good thing I’m here for real, then, isn’t it, Bell?”

“Here for good,” she says, and she looks so much like Mary.

Tim glances at Emily. “It’s not that Mary expects me to be someone I’m not—if anything, she’s so understanding, and so strong. It would break someone else, but not my Mary.”

Emily is in his house; this is not her place to put her burdens on Tim’s fragile shoulders. “It’s okay,” says Emily. “You don’t have to say anything, I’m not here to… to break open wounds, especially in front of your daughter. God knows we have enough wounds for the whole town.”

Tim laughs shakily and pushes his hair back. For a second it stays put, then it flops back over his brow. “No, it’s okay. I guess sometimes it seems like I’m the imposter.”

Her phone buzzes and she pulls it out of her pocket. The message (from _Greg <3_) reads, _r u done? i miss u._

“I have to respond to this,” she says. She texts back, _I’m catching up with friends, it’s ok. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m ready._

“Tim,” says Emily. “If you… if it’s too much, seriously, get ahold of me and I’ll be there.”

“You’re starting a support group for alien abductees?” says Tim, laughing.

Emily grins. “If you know any others, give me their numbers.”

Tim’s smile turns into a grimace, and they both fall into thought. Emily watches the thin light brighten and dim, not quite reaching her feet.

“I need to know,” says Emily, softly.

“Who you were?” Tim asks.

“Who I am.” It’s like being at the top of a roller coaster, about to plunge, without being strapped in. Suddenly her coffee is cold in her hands.

“Yeah,” says Tim. “Yeah.”

Mary carries only two plates out. It has taken her a long time to prepare still-hot lasagna, and Emily never once heard the microwave or oven timer. Emily stares at Mary until she meets her eyes, flinty and sure.

“You were giving us time,” whispers Emily.

“You two needed it. You’re welcome here whenever you want, no need to bring us food.”

“Well,” says Emily. “I’d love to spend more time with your family.”

Bella closes her eyes, and then opens them when Tim presents some of his own food to her.

“Did you hear everything?” Tim asks, worried.

Mary says, “I heard enough, but I’m certainly not going to think any less of you for it. You’ve got nothing to worry ‘bout, sweetie.”

Tim says, plainly, “I love you.”

“Well, shucks, I love you too. You’re gonna get me all sappy in front of our guest.”

“And I love you more every day.”

The conversation drifts a little more comfortable, a little less close to home. Mary brags about the kids’ achievements in school and lets Emily steer the conversation away from Emily and Tim. Mary brings her own plate out, and they could be friends under normal circumstances, sharing a meal in the living room, no grief stretched out between them white as a spiderweb.

So when Greg pulls up outside, Mary hugs Emily on the porch. Mary says, “You don’t ever hesitate to drop by, announced or otherwise. Don’t ever be a stranger. You’ve got a family here in us.”

Emily holds her hand out for Tim and he pulls her into a hug. He’s solid and real and warm, and Emily wants to tell him so. Instead she holds him like he’s an old friend, like he’s someone her soul knows.

“I know,” Emily tells Mary when she pulls back, tells both of them, and tears prick at her eyes. “You’ve got a family in me, too.”

At the car door, basket swinging in her hand with its empty baking tin, she looks back. Mary is wiping her eyes and Tim is smiling out of that sensitive face like it’s the thing he wants to do most in the world, for the rest of his life, his arm around Mary’s shoulder. Mary reaches up for Tim’s hand.

Wow, thinks Emily as she puts the basket into the backseat. What am I supposed to do after seeing a love like that?


End file.
